Divine Rebel

by Tom Wallace

  “Why is there no accountability for the sinner? Why does he get to walk away from the carnage left in his wake? What is his punishment for crimes committed?”

  “Those questions are too serious to be discussed over the phone. That’s face-to-face stuff. Look, Angel, I’m in my hometown. Come here and hang out with me for a few days. We’ll talk about whatever is on your mind. Fly into Louisville, Nashville, it doesn’t matter. I’ll pay for everything. What do you say?”

  “Your hometown, huh? Did you enter riding a donkey amid a chorus of hosannas from your multitude of worshippers?”

  “Hardly. It was more like the prophet not being recognized in his own land,” I said. “No, just about everyone I knew has either moved away or died.”

  “What’s your reason for the visit? Business or nostalgia?”

  “There was a murder that happened here recently. I’m going to look into it, see if I can get enough material for a book.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “Come and join me. I could use another set of eyes and ears.”

  “When did you ever need anyone, Dad? We both know you were the master at pushing people away, especially those you were supposed to love.”

  “Maybe I’ve changed. Did you ever consider that? And for the record, I never wanted to push you away.”

  “What was I, then? Collateral damage?”

  “Yeah, unfortunately you were. But it’s time I repair the damage.”

  “Let me think about it, Dad. I’ll let you know in a day or two.”

  “I’ll be waiting to hear from you,” I said.

  I smiled. Another small step for mankind. You take them when you get them.

  ~ * ~

  After ending the call, I went down to Mike’s office. He had just arrived, and after unlocking the door he instructed me to hang loose for fifteen or twenty minutes while he ran to the post office. I made myself comfortable in a chair across from his desk and reflected on my talk with Angel. It had gone well, I thought, about as well as I could hope. At least there was dialogue between us. That was a positive beginning. There were serious issues that needed to be addressed. Hopefully, if we really listened to each other, we might put aside past troubles. But that could only happen by communicating. Maybe if she came for a visit, we could work things out and improve our relationship. Maybe even get it closer to what it had been prior to the divorce.

  A firm tap on the door startled me back to the present. I turned to see an attractive, well-dressed woman standing just inside the office. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, with brown hair, hazel eyes, and a slim figure. Her attire…blue business suit, white blouse and flat shoes… screamed attorney. The briefcase in her hand only added to that assessment.

  “I was looking for Mike,” she said. “Obviously, you’re not him.”

  “No, Mike had to run to the post office,” I said. “He should be back in a few minutes. Feel free to wait, if you like.”

  “Do you have business with Mike?”

  “Not really. Mike and I went to high school together. I’m just here for a visit.”

  “Well, I’m pressed for time, so I’d better try to catch him later today,” she said. “If you don’t mind, inform Mike that Anne Bishop came by to see him. He’ll know what it’s about.”

  She was almost out the door before I realized I knew that name from somewhere. Then it hit me… she was the Brown family attorney, one of the four individuals I needed to speak with.

  “Wait a minute, Anne,” I said, standing and moving closer to her. “Didn’t you represent Todd Brown at his sentencing?”

  “How do you know about Todd?”

  “Mike told me about the case when he and Karen visited me in Sarasota a week or so ago. I was intrigued by what he said. Also, I knew Steve when I was a kid growing up here. Karen suggested that I come up and do some research into what happened. That I might find enough material to write a book about the case.”

  Pointing her finger at me, she said, “You’re the guy from around here who wrote the movies, aren’t you?”

  “I was more of a script doctor than an actual screenwriter. But, yeah, I’m the guy. My name is Nick Gabriel.”

  “Sure, I’ve heard of you. You’re kind of a half-assed celebrity around here.”

  I laughed and said, “Half-assed sounds about right.”

  “That was my half-assed attempt at humor and not a pejorative assessment. I meant no offense.”

  “None taken. Would you be willing to speak with me about Todd’s situation?”

  “Sure, but I can’t do it now. Like I said, I’m in a hurry. But if you are free, say, around one-thirty, we could meet somewhere for lunch. Would that work for you?”

  “That would be great. Where do you want to meet?”

  “There’s a place here called Philly’s. You familiar with it?”

  “Yeah, I passed it on the way into town.”

  “Good. Then I will see you at one-thirty. Don’t panic if I’m a little late. My meeting might run longer than expected. But I’ll eventually get there.”

  “I look forward to seeing you,” I said as she hurried away.

  ~ * ~

  Mike returned to his office a few minutes later holding a stack of letters in his right hand and a small package crammed under his left arm. He deposited his load onto the desk, removed his sport jacket, loosened his tie, and turned to face me.

  “I bumped into Anne as she was leaving,” he said. “She told me you guys have a one-thirty meeting at Philly’s.”

  “That’s correct,” I responded. “She seemed more than willing to talk about the Todd Brown case.”

  “That was a fortuitous meeting, I must say. And a lucky one. It saved your morning from being a total disaster. Sheriff Jackson is out of town until Friday.”

  “No big deal. There are others I can speak with until he returns.”

  “Unfortunately, I won’t be here to shepherd you around and assist with introductions,” he said. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning for a conference in D.C., and I won’t be back until Saturday afternoon.”

  “Washington, D.C. Land of sharks and gutless wonders. Be careful, or you might get sucked into the quicksand.”

  “I promise to hold my nose and keep a safe distance from the madhouse,” Mike said.

  “Is it possible to get far enough away to be safe in that town?”

  Mike sat, said, “What are your plans for the rest of the day? And how can I help?”

  “In a perfect world I would move my interview with Steve Brown to the top of my list. However, I think it’s wise to hold off until I meet with Anne Bishop. It’s important that I get her take on what happened that night and during the days following the murder.”

  “Sounds reasonable. Sorry I’m not going to be here to help you.”

  “I have names and addresses of those on my list. It shouldn’t be a problem tracking them down.”

  “Three hours until one-thirty,” he said. “What are your immediate plans?”

  “Go back to the motel, gather my thoughts, make a list of questions I want to ask Anne.”

  “Okay, well, like I said, I’ll be out of town until Saturday. But you can always call me if you need anything. And Karen is still planning on having you over for dinner. If she asks while I’m away, say yes. Don’t let my absence influence you. She’s a helluva cook. You’d be a fool to turn down one of her meals.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement,” I said, adding, “have a safe trip to D.C. And keep in mind what I said: Watch out for the sharks.”

  Mike gave me a thumbs-up.

  I got back in my car feeling good about how the morning had gone. Meeting Sheriff Perry Jackson was not a high priority; meeting Anne Bishop was. It was dumb luck that she stopped by Mike’s office while I was there. But if life has taught me one definitive lesson, it’s this: luck is a roll of the dice that can come up seven or it can come up snake eyes. And trust me, I’ve been on both sides of the come-out roll. I�
�ve had hits, I’ve had misses.

  Concerning this particular roll, I had the feeling a lucky seven was destined to hit.

  Seven

  Anne Bishop showed up at Philly’s at one forty-five. She slid into a booth I had secured by the front window, apologized for being late, plucked a tissue from her purse, and dabbed at the sheen of perspiration that glistened on her brow. She gave the appearance of a woman always in a hurry.

  “You should thank your lucky stars you didn’t become a lawyer,” Anne stated, shaking her head. “I’ve never been around so many attorneys… male and female who love nothing more than to hear themselves prattle on like old-time preachers. The only explanation is they must be filled with hot air. It’s all I can do to be in their presence for more than a few minutes at a time. After that, it’s like I’m hearing mosquitoes buzzing in my ears.”

  “If you hate being a lawyer so much, why not quit and do something else?”

  “Oh, no, don’t misunderstand me…I love being a lawyer. I’ve always considered it to be a truly noble profession. It’s the darn lawyers I can barely tolerate.”

  “You can rest assured the thought of becoming a lawyer never once crossed my mind.”

  “I had some down time during my meeting earlier this morning and I checked you out on the Internet,” she said. “You had one major accomplishment I didn’t know about. I knew you had written for movies, but I wasn’t aware that you wrote a successful play about William Blake. Movies, a play…that’s an impressive resume.”

  Before I could respond by telling her that nothing I had done was all that damn impressive, the waitress came to our booth to take our orders. Anne went with a Caesar salad and a glass of iced tea.

  “And for you, sir?” the waitress inquired.

  “I’ll also have the Caesar salad,” I answered, holding up my glass. “And could I get a refill of Diet Coke.”

  “Absolutely. Your orders shouldn’t take too long.”

  When the waitress was gone, Anne said, “In my faraway youth, back when I was in college, I dated a guy named Brett. He majored in English, and he idolized William Blake. Brett considered Blake to be superior in every way to most mortal human beings. He saw Blake as a God-like figure.”

  “I doubt Blake would have cared for that assessment,” I pointed out. “He had a very uneasy relationship with God, especially with the Judeo-Christian God, who he considered to be a cruel and angry moralist. For Blake, I think, the human imagination was his god.”

  “Brett was forever quoting a line Blake had written. I can’t remember all of it, but it had something to do with bricks and stones. Do you have any idea what Brett was referring to?”

  “‘Prisons are built with stones of law, brothels with bricks of religion.’”

  “Yes, that’s the one,” Anne replied, chuckling. “I’m fairly certain Brett didn’t have much experience with prisons, so I’m guessing it was the brothel reference he connected with.”

  The waitress brought our food and drinks and asked if we needed anything else. We said no, everything looked good. She told us to let her know if we did, smiled, and then hurried away to begin cleaning one of the just-vacated tables.

  Neither Anne nor I spoke while we ate. The salads were excellent and we quickly consumed them. Finished, I pushed my plate away, while Anne nabbed a couple of croutons and nibbled on them.

  Anne said, “So, you’re here to gather material about Todd’s case, because of…what? You’re friends with Steve Brown?”

  “That’s not inaccurate, but there are alternative reasons I plan to explore. My hope is for the book to be about more than just a murder.”

  “What would those alternatives be?”

  I shrugged, said, “I’m not sure at this point. I suppose it all depends on what events unfold. On what details I uncover. The story will be dictated by what I learn.”

  The waitress returned with a pitcher of iced tea and refilled Anne’s glass. She asked if I wanted another Diet Coke; I said no.

  “Let’s talk about Todd’s case,” I said after the waitress left.

  “Sure,” she replied. “But first, you tell me what you’ve heard about the case.”

  “I heard that Luke Felton was found dead on the ground next to his vehicle and that he had been stabbed multiple times. I also heard the ring finger on his right hand was severed and a ring he wore had been removed. The next day Todd was asleep at his home when law enforcement arrived and woke him up. He was wearing Luke’s ring. They also discovered bloody clothes on the floor next to the bed. Todd was taken into custody, questioned, he confessed, and was arrested. Weeks later, he was sentenced to life in prison with no chance for parole.”

  “That’s clear, concise, and accurate…with a lone exception. The part about Todd confessing.”

  “He didn’t confess?”

  “Not exactly. It was more like Todd agreed that he had committed the murder. Sheriff Perry Jackson did most of the questioning, but Jimmy Martin was also in on the interview.”

  “Why would Todd agree? Why didn’t he defend himself, say he hadn’t killed Luke?”

  “Now we have arrived at the weird part,” Anne said. “Todd claims to have no memory of what transpired that night. Swears he can’t recall a thing.”

  “You stab a guy multiple times, then cut off his finger? I’d think that would be hard to forget.”

  “Todd was so messed up on drugs I’m convinced he’s telling the truth. Maybe he did murder Luke, although I’m uncertain he did. But I do believe he genuinely can’t remember what happened.”

  “Was he tested for drugs?” I asked.

  “Yes. And he was loaded with all kinds of nasty shit. Xanax, Oxycontin, Vicodin, and pot. And even after he’d been asleep for several hours, his blood-alcohol level was high enough for him to still be considered legally intoxicated. I’m not clear if the drugs were in his system before or after the homicide, but the ones I just listed were present in his tox screen.”

  “Jesus. Kid takes that much junk means he’s got a serious problem.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Why didn’t Todd have an attorney with him during the interview?”

  “Todd didn’t request an attorney, and his parents weren’t informed of his arrest until later that afternoon. By that time, Todd had already signed his confession statement.”

  “Was the interview taped?”

  “Yes, it was.” Anne sipped her tea. “I’ve watched it at least fifty times, searching for anything that might help Todd’s case. Thus far, I haven’t come up with much. But I do have a complaint with the interrogation. There are moments when Perry appears to be leading Todd rather than merely questioning him. I find that disturbing.”

  “When did you get involved with the case?” I said.

  “Late on the evening after Todd was locked up. Steve called and asked if I would represent Todd. I’d done some legal work for the Browns on several occasions in the past. That’s how Steve knew me. I told Steve I would see what was happening. I also informed him that he needed to bring in a big-time criminal defense attorney. What Todd was facing required representation far beyond the scope of my capabilities. But after Todd confessed, it really didn’t matter who his attorney was. His fate was already sealed.”

  “Look, Anne, I’m not an attorney or a homicide investigator, but I see two questions that are begging to be answered.”

  “Only two? I can come up with half-a-dozen. But go ahead, ask your two.”

  “First, what reason would an eighteen-year-old kid have for being alone in a car at that time of night with a man Luke’s age? And second, how were the cops able to so quickly identify Todd as the killer?”

  “The answer to your second question is easy—Todd’s driver’s license was found on the passenger side floorboard in Luke’s car. That put Todd in the car at some point. As for your first question, I have no answer. That one is still a mystery to me.”

  “Did you ask Todd about it?”

  �
��Of course I did. I’ve asked him many times, but he has no answer.”

  “Was Luke Felton gay?”

  “Nothing conclusive on that question,” Anne said. “Some say yes, others argue no.”

  “Did he deal drugs?”

  “Yet another question I’ve asked Todd and another question he won’t answer.”

  “I got the feeling from your earlier comment that you have some reservations about Perry Jackson,” I said. “Am I reading you wrong?”

  “Let me be as tactful as possible. He’s maybe okay when dealing with small-time, petty offenses, but on a case of this magnitude, I feel he was in way over his head. A homicide investigation requires a more skilled, more professional individual than Perry Jackson. He’s not that intelligent or that talented. That’s my humble opinion, anyway.”

  “I’m sure being involved in his first homicide case was definitely overwhelming for him. It would be for any small-town law enforcement officer.”

  “His second.”

  “Second, what?”

  “Second big homicide case.”

  “There was another one?”

  Anne nodded, said, “Yes, about three years ago. The victim was a twenty-eight-year-old female named Sharon Anderson. Her body was found in the trunk of her car, which had been partially submerged in a pond. Seems the killer or killers attempted to push the car into the pond but they failed to get it all the way in. The man who owns the property went to do some fishing and saw the rear end of the car sticking out of the water. He called the police. They found Sharon’s body, but her head was missing. It has never been found.”

  “And what about the crime? Has it been solved?”

  “No.”

  “Is it still being investigated?” I said.

  “You would have to ask Perry Jackson that question.”

  “Two homicides occur that close together, both involving amputations? Any chance they could be connected?”

  “Think about your question, Nick. For those murders to be connected, you have to surmise that Todd, when he was fifteen-years-old, killed and beheaded a woman. Then three years later he murders Luke Felton. No way am I buying that.”